


Two Years

by linearoundmythoughts, Lyrae_Immortalis



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Except with mobster politics and costumed villain personas, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by The Gift of the Magi - O. Henry, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mob Boss Oswald, Requited Unrequited Love, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Umbrella Boy Ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 01:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linearoundmythoughts/pseuds/linearoundmythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae_Immortalis/pseuds/Lyrae_Immortalis
Summary: After working for Oswald for five years as his umbrella boy (and informal assistant), Edward is kidnapped and used to exploit Oswald's weaknesses. Believing the weakness to be himself, and the secrets he possesses, and not the emotional value he holds as Oswald's beloved (a secret Oswald has kept from him), Edward leaves for two years to transform into the stronger man he's always hoped he could become, donning the name and persona of The Riddler in the process. Returning to Oswald to offer his assistance again, and re-pledge his loyalty (and hidden love) on the two-year anniversary of his abrupt departure from Oswald's life, he finds it may be too late to join back up with his once friend and employer. If he can melt the ice around Oswald's heart, they may have a chance…





	Two Years

**Author's Note:**

> So, we got so overwhelmed with feelings for this AU that we would discuss between storyboarding chapters of [Just One Look at You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11214234/chapters/25052238) that we had to make the time to write it! 
> 
> Big shout-out to our friend [Erin](http://my-chemical-romanoff.tumblr.com/) and her adorable art of ["S4 Oswald/S1 Ed"](http://askoswaldandedward.tumblr.com/) that greatly inspired us to make this universe a reality in our bibliographies, and we **have** to devote the fic to our friend Wally, who pretty much demanded we write it, as well. Thanks, Wally…
> 
> And thank you, you who is reading this; we hope you enjoy ❤

Standing two blocks away from the Iceberg Lounge, Ed lifts his hand to card his fingers through his hair, only to bump knuckles with his bowler hat. _Right. Focus. This is why you are here. This is the night you’ve been waiting years for._ Ed smiles over the sorrowed pain and anxiousness bubbling inside of him, rolling in waves like the low thumps of the music billowing out of Oswald’s club.

“Oswald,” Ed says, swallowing thickly as he falls back into the brick wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. _Oswald_. Two years have passed since Ed was last in his presence, working happily for him. Two years have passed since Ed left and went out on his own. Tugging on the cuffs of his sleeves and straightening his purple tie, Ed pushes off the wall and begins to slowly stroll his way down the street, heading towards the ice-blue neon sign which lights his way.

“Mr. Johnson, after all this time you’re still working the doors,” Ed comments as he steps past the line of people waiting for admittance, ignoring their protested remarks with a heavy roll of his eyes.

“Who— _Nygma?_ Ed, is that you?”

Ed waves a hand through the air and grins out the corner of his mouth when Johnson claps him on the shoulder, squeezing tightly. _A friendly gesture,_ Ed reminds himself, suppressing the urge to shake it off. “Or should I be calling you _Riddler_ now?

“Ed’s fine. There’s no need for formalities, you have known me for quite some time.”

“That I have. I remember the day the boss first hired you…now look at you. Making headlines everywhere.”

“Quite right.” Ed smiles tight-lipped and gazes into the porthole windows on the entrance doors, fingers twitching at his sides. “Speaking of Oswald—Mr. Cobblepot—” shaking his head, Ed corrects himself, “—is he in?” A useless question, Ed knows this, even as he opened his mouth to voice it. The only night of the week Oswald takes off is a Tuesday, for reasons Ed never questioned. Working as Oswald’s umbrella boy lead to many discoveries, all intriguing alike, but nothing was more confounding, remarkable and disconcerting than the day Ed grasped the depths of his emotions for the mobster.

“Yeah kid, he’s in. Go on through.” A pat on the back and a handshake later, Ed pushes his way through the grand double doors, arms spread wide, and enters the club, stomach creating knots.

The Iceberg Lounge hasn’t changed—a comforting feeling. Despite the metamorphosis Ed has been through, at least he can find relief in familiar surroundings, if not for the overwhelming dread threatening to bubble up out of his throat. _How will Oswald react to me now?_ He had once been favorable, kind, and pleasant, showing Ed a certain level of care and consideration one would not have expected from a man in his position.

Ed remembers the day Oswald first hired him—perhaps _begrudgingly accepting_ Ed’s stuttered plea (and _unnecessary_ application) might be the more accurate descriptor, as adverts for _umbrella boy_ aren’t something one typically finds in a newspaper. 

He also recalls the day he began falling in love with Oswald, for it was the very same one.

Blinking off his thoughts, Ed begins to make his way through the crowd, holding his head high as stares into the back wall of the club, heading in the direction Oswald will likely be found. The sea of people slowly part way, some recognizing Ed for who he is and shunting back, others following suit, like sheep in a herd. It takes mere moments for a clear path to form and for Ed to catch a glimpse of the man he left and returned for.

“Hello, Oswald.”

Even though he turns slowly, Oswald still feels the world spin, still feels himself almost topple over. The thudding of his heart, the rush of his blood as it bottoms out in his veins, the weight of oxygen as a shaking breath returns it to his lungs—all these physical reactions to a voice he thought he would never hear beside him again _slam_ him in a crushing tidal wave.

Yet, there are appearances to keep. Too many remnants of the ways Oswald had adapted in those first few, lonely months have become permanent for him, too late to return to who he once was. After the sudden and painful departure of his former assistant, the _umbrella boy_ , who had become indisposable and vitally necessary to Oswald in every imaginable way: every gripping, consuming, emotional way, Oswald had to evolve, in order to cope, in the wake of his love’s departure from his life. Since then, Oswald had to become as cold as the frosted martini glass he holds in one hand, chilled vodka inside close to stationary as he turns to face the man who called out his name.

Dropping his elbows to the bar, Oswald poses his head high, his face stern as he quietly utters, “Out.”

Ed’s eyebrows quirk and Oswald rips his gaze away from his face, not ready to allow it to linger yet (and unsure he ever will). Already haunted by that face in his dreams, and just as time sliced away at memory and the details start to fade, now he’s back, a spectacle of beauty return just to cause Oswald fresh pain?

Placing his beverage down smoothly on the polished bar, Oswald speaks again, face turned towards the silent crowds watching him. “I said, ‘Get out.’” A pause and then he screams, “Get out!” causing the vulture-like spectators to scatter quickly.

“Leave us!” he barks at his head security detail; dressed in average cocktail-bar garb to blend in. She blinks and speaks into her disguised earpiece, the variety of guards following orders as they leave the club.

Elbows propped against the bar, Oswald tuts and shakes his head, remaining silent. Ed will have to explain why he’s there himself—Oswald won’t spare the words to address him, not after all the time that has passed, and with no contact having come to pass between them.

As Oswald’s hardened stare settles on Ed’s face, Ed mashes his lips together and tests a grin, although the way his cheeks pull tightly and his eyebrows knit together, he is certain it comes off as a pained grimace. 

“I’m not sure where you expect me to begin,” Ed starts, “and I doubt—” Oswald blinks slowly, the only outward sign that time has not paused, the only reaction Ed receives to his request for assistance, a foothold… _something_ ,“—yeah, okay, no pointers.”

Hands balling into fists, Ed tugs on the strings of his mind and draws forth the speech he spent a month crafting, but the reverberations of the music, thoughtlessly left playing, destabilizes him. “I—one moment, please.” Ed waits for Oswald to blink again before turning his back on him to cross the club and pull the needle off the record, an action he has done multiple times in the past. He flicks off all the switches and turns all the necessary dials until the only sound he can hear, as he spins slowly on his heel, is the blood rushing past his ears.

Oswald hasn’t moved. Ed wishes he would say something, shout, scream, squawk, screech…something, _anything_. The silence is deafening and unsettling, no less than what Ed deserves after vanishing without a concise explanation. _I thought…I hoped you might have understood why I did this._

Rolling his shoulders and straightening his spine, Ed takes a step forward in Oswald’s direction, followed by another shortly after as he makes his way across the room, reeled in like bait on a hook. “The more you take, the more you leave behind,” he says, coming to a halt four strides away. “What am I?”

“Footsteps,” Ed answers the riddle himself, as soon as the corners of Oswald’s eyes twitch and the muscles in his jaw ripple. “Every footstep I have taken, no matter where they lead me, no matter how far away they carried me, have been towards you.”

Even though the rigidness in Oswald’s face settles, he makes no move to acknowledge Ed or comment on what he is saying. It’s a tactic Oswald employed often, unsettling those before him until they launched into…whatever stuttered conviction would appease him. As umbrella boy, Ed had watched on with glee during those moments, suppressing his smile but not the effervescent glee and awe that, within weeks, became a permanent fixture whenever he was in Oswald’s company. _If only things were so simple now._

“Are you just going to stand there? Do I need to spell it out for you?” Ed snaps, surprised by his irritation. Here he is, returning to Oswald, receiving nothing in return… _nothing._ He has no clue if Oswald is even listening to him or his own thoughts. Unable to stay still, Ed paces back and forth, walking the length of the bar before turning in the other direction. “Is that what you want? _Need?_ ” Throwing his hands in the air, he huffs between clenched teeth.

The showman he had created— _became_ —faltered around Oswald, much to Ed’s annoyance and relief. Outside this building, outside his home, he could be someone else: the Riddler, the prince of puzzles and king of conundrums…but with Oswald, all that gravitas, confidence, and ingenuity vanishes as Ed is stripped back by invisible hands, reverting to the man that lies beneath.

Heart sinking, Ed removes his hat and holds it over his chest, pressing hard until the brim digs into his skin, instantly calming himself down. “You didn’t _need_ me,” he whispers, bowing his head. _You didn’t need me the way I needed you._ “I was a detriment to everything you spent years building. The wars you waged, the people you killed…your empire was almost dismantled…because of me.”

Years, Ed worked under Oswald. Years, he never faced any real threat or concern; keeping himself close to Oswald’s side provided him both protection and happiness. There were always a few earners and enforcers who thought themselves _important enough_ that their offhanded remarks about Ed’s constant presence would go ignored, and while it may have been that way in the beginning, after a few months, those insults did not roll off as smoothly.

Naturally, whatever unspoken, reverential feelings Oswald held for Ed, was ultimately used against him. Ed found himself kidnapped, held hostage for four arduous days in the basement of some random packing house. It took only three for the city to collapse into chaos. Restrained, Ed watched his captors grow more and more unsettled, twitching nervously whenever a car drove past. The storm was closing in on them; they could feel it cracking on their skin, taste it in the air. Oswald was coming.

“I left because of you— _for you._ I was kidnapped, Oswald, _me_ , your umbrella boy. Weak, defenseless Ed, who possessed none of the skills required to protect himself, and too many of your secrets.”

Dropping to the floor, Ed’s kneecaps connect sharply with the checkered tiles and he swallows back a wince, mind still turning with memories of his past. Shifting his gaze to Oswald, who continues to stand rigidly before him, physically and emotionally statuesque, Ed searches his face for a hint, a _speck,_ of the man who once shined so brightly upon him. When Ed was rescued from the foolish but no less frightening thugs, the relief he felt when Oswald hugged him, smiling beautifully through every feature, shifted into dread. Oswald could have died—he could have lost everything. Ed knew he wasn’t worth such a heavy price, and the fact that Oswald acted like he was, was terrifying.

“What is it you once said to me, _be the change you wish to see_? Well, this is the change I _needed_ to be.” Ed did what he could for Oswald as the Riddler. More than half of his schemes benefitted the Penguin: power, prestige, wealth, pouring back in with Ed orchestrating its return from the shadows, working _with_ him from afar. “I did this for you. I became _this_ …for you, and it was something I struggled with every day, for the only place I wanted to be was here, beside you.”

Sitting further back on his heels, Ed lifts his hands and cards his shaking fingers through his hair, messing up his neatly-combed hairstyle, transforming the image of the Riddler back into that of the umbrella boy. “I can start a war or end one, I can give you the strength of heroes or leave you powerless, I might be snared with a glance, but no force can compel me to stay. What am I?”

Two shuddered breaths part Ed’s lips as his shoulders fall, eyes pleading for Oswald to understand. “I’m still him,” he croaks, throat tightening, heart fluttering wildly when Oswald’s fingers twitch and his eyes blink in a new pattern. “I’m still yours, I _always_ have been.”

Silence stretches between them.

“Two years, Edward. _Two years_.”

It’s the only thing Oswald has to say.

“You left me, without any sort of _rational_ explanation, without _any_ explanation, _two years_ ago.” He takes a lurching step forward, and Ed flinches involuntarily in the split second that it seems like Oswald may just attempt to step _over_ him. “For _two years_ , I suffered alone with the knowledge that showing my feelings for you drove you away from me.”

And oh, show his feelings he _had_. The only reason he hadn’t kissed Edward the moment he secured his safety was because the man was already pulling out of his arms, already explaining that he needed to _go_. Nothing Ed tried to save face with could undo how blatant his rejection was. Oswald had already spent _ages_ struggling to confess his feelings to Ed, and when he thought he’d almost lost him, he didn’t care what consequences may come, if only for the chance to see if Ed felt the same (and so many moments Oswald _cursed_ the memory of, for fooling him into thinking there was any chance his love was reciprocated).

Looming over Edward, Oswald stares down at him, mouth pinched, glare harsh. “I suffered without your guidance, your support, your intellect, your voice in my ear, you by my side. Without a word from you, without any contact, I watched _the Riddler_ rise, while my life became smaller.” There was a reason the Riddler had such an incredible track record and immense success, with almost no harm ever coming to him. Everyone loyal to the Penguin was ordered to never cause him harm, nor allow harm to come to pass him. Did Ed even know that?

“All that time, those _two years_ , I wondered, _what did I do to drive him to this_? To watch you become the man I always knew you could, always believed you could be, if you wished it—why do you think I said the things I did about change—but to have to abandon me _completely_ to do it, to force us into being strangers? That I could not, _would not_ have foreseen, or allowed. And now you come back, walk in here as if you’re still allowed in my club, in my territory, in my _presence_ , to tell me you had to leave, _for_ me. That all the hurt I’ve endured was, what? Expected? _Forgivable_?”

Edward’s mouth hangs open, his lips quivering, eyes shaking, softly shaking his head. It makes Oswald rage and ache at the same time.

“You’re right, no force could compel you to stay. Why do you think I didn’t try? I knew there was a good chance when I hired you that you would cross me, use me.” Oswald tips his head back and laughs sadly, blinking back tears. “You know I could have _trapped_ you here with me, but that wasn’t what I wanted. The man I adored, would wage _any_ war for, _damn_ the consequences…the love of my life, the light of my heart…”

Reaching out a shaking hand, Oswald traces his fingertips down the edge of Ed’s cheek, a ghost of a touch, almost unreal, comprised more of sparks radiating heat than tactile contact.

“Cut the lies, Edward. Don’t feign loyalty when you have none. Strike out with whatever you have planned, whatever true reasoning you’ve surely come here for. But, know there’s no damage you can cause me that your absence these two years hasn’t already.” He wants to retch away from Ed, but he can’t draw himself back, for his broken heart still gravitates to the man before him.

“And don’t _mock_ me, this whole act,” Oswald sneers, gesturing at Ed on his knees. “It’s unbecoming. It’s crass.” _It’s cruel._ “It’s beyond necessity. If you had longed to be by my side, you would not have left me, left me powerless, missing you, _needing_ you in my life.”

Ed, bottom lip quivering, can only stare as the image of Oswald blurs before him, until the weight of his sorrows clears his eyes. With the first tear breaking free, the rest follow in an unbroken stream and it takes every ounce of strength in Ed’s body to not to fold in on himself and cry till his soul feels lighter.

He suffocates with each breath he takes, with Oswald’s words swirling through his mind, sinking down into his chest, latching on like old, rusted hooks, sharp and damaging. He doesn’t try and restrain his tears—he can’t. They pour down his cheeks, obscuring his vision, again and again, trapping him in a melancholic cycle.

“I’m sorry,” Ed croaks as he snatches up Oswald’s wrist and draws his hand back to his cheek before all further contact between them is cut. _I did this for you. I wanted to be worthy of you, and in the end…I lost you._ Ed’s head falls and he sobs, creating a pool in the palm of Oswald’s hand. “I’m s-sorry.” His lungs rummage for oxygen, and the flesh under his ribcage throbs. Ed’s cheeks burn, temples throb, and his mind creates memories and scenarios of times that went unshared.

Turning his face into Oswald’s palm, which burns hot against his face, Ed presses into it, and when his lips brush his skin, Ed presses them too, moving from the base of Oswald’s wrist to the tips of his fingers. “Oswald, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want—I didn’t mean to…to _hurt you._ ”

“Forgive me. _Please,_ forgive me,” Ed cries, lips evermoving. “You deserved someone strong, a weakness that…that couldn’t be exploited. I wanted to be that, n-not _become that._ ” Swiping his nose, Ed sniffles wetly, chest rattling. His hands fall to his knees and he stares through the splattered droplets of tears lining the inner side of his lenses, glistening under the fluorescent lights in the club. Each time Ed blinks more collect, connecting together.

“I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to think—two years is a long time…perhaps too long.”

Oswald’s throat clenches; there’s a fire inside it that he can’t suppress nor release. “S-stop this,” he says weakly, voice high and pained. Tears fall from Oswald’s own eyes, so easily he ignores them, as he reaches to lift Edward’s face up by the chin, fingers cradling his jaw gently.

“I wanted _you_ , Edward, everything you already _were_ and more—everything we could be _together_. But you—you _crushed me_ , when you left. You—”

Edward sobs harder, his whole body wracked with sobs, every inch of him trembling and shaking with the force of his tears. He leans what feels like all his weight into Oswald’s hand; he clings both his hands around Oswald’s wrist, desperate but not demanding, and drops his cheek back into Oswald’s palm.

“I told myself that if you ever returned, I would forgive you,” Oswald chokes out, voice wet and raw. “I would ask no questions, ask nothing of you. Not even expect anything of you. If only I could have you back…if you would just come _back_ …”

His own tears flow freely now; the icy burn of them rolling down his cheeks in the cool, artificially-cycled air only countered by the biting, scorching heat Ed’s skin is emitting, jolting Oswald to the bone.

“You know I’m not a man who forgives, but that quarter would’ve been given to you without a moment of hesitation. And then the first year passed.” He pauses to swallow. “You reappeared to _everyone_ in this city _except me_. And then I recalled why I don’t forgive. The longer time crawled on, the colder I turned, the more I came to—” Can he make the claim that he hates Edward, though? Can he truly pretend that’s even marginally correct?

He can’t bring himself to declare his love again _either_ , even after all this time; his chest is too tight, the room is too small, the beauty beneath Ed’s breakdown too painful to behold—but he wills himself forward, taking a gamble on a round he’s already lost. What will happen—Ed will fall away, like water between his fingers? So be it. It won’t be a new devastation.

Ed kisses his hand again, his eyes half-closed, his lips repeating the motion over and over, only stopping to take in another breath.

“If you’re trying to tell me you—you’re in love with me too, you’re doing a bad job,” Oswald laughs, even though it’s not funny, and it doesn’t even leave his chest, only remains a rumble amidst all the others. “You haven’t _said that_. And I’ve been through enough trials with you that I need not answer _riddles_ in addition to the rest you’ve put me through.”

He slides a hand into Ed’s hair, combing it back, a half-measure of the touches he’s spent the last seven years dreaming of bestowing on him.

“You know I’m stubborn, vile in my cruelty, but you also know my secret, my softness, my weakness. That was a gift I gave you, Edward— _you_ are my gift. And I won’t forgive you if you plan to desert me again, to reject the most precious thing I have to offer, and deny me the choice to treasure it.”

Oswald’s gentleness brings Ed another layer of pain. He didn’t know. He never knew Oswald cared for him so deeply. For years Ed was forced to love him through an invisible barrier he could not cross, only to realize it never existed in the first place. _I was only your umbrella boy…a nobody. How was I to know that we could have been more than a mere fantastical concoction? It was never clear. That is why I never told you._

Cradling Oswald’s wrist, Ed’s lips part as he cries silently, body rattling. It takes him a few moments before he finds any sort of composure, but when he does, with salty tears creeping into the corners of his mouth, Ed tilts his head back to peer up at Oswald, eyelids weighted by damp, clumped lashes. Oswald’s meets his stare, his sea-green eyes appear as if an ocean has been encased inside of small, glass marbles. _Please don’t leave me again,_ they say, as Oswald’s fingers stroke Ed’s jaw, but the marbles are cracked; the ocean is leaking little water droplets down his rosy cheeks and jaw, collecting at the collar of his shirt.

“Treasure me… _please_. I—I’m not—I don’t want to leave again.” Ed’s voice is something he barely recognizes: whiny, pleading, high-pitched and squeaky, but the words, _the words_ , feel like they originate within him, as if they have never been uttered by another. “I’ve only ever wanted to be yours.”

“Then tell me, Edward, and be clear this time. Why did you go in the first place? We could ha—”

“I _had_ to,” Ed interrupts, repeating that which he has said countless times to himself, a mantra which once gave him hope, but secretly wreaked destruction.

Oswald sighs, screwing his face up for a split second before letting it fall flat again. “You keep saying that, as though you don’t underst—”

“I love you. I love you, too.” 

Oswald blinks in an abstracted pattern, Morse-coded confusion and Ed smiles sadly. “I _love_ you, Oswald. I have harbored feelings for you since the day I walked into your office.” 

Nudging his glasses up his nose, Ed nuzzles his cheek into Oswald’s hand, dropping another kiss on the curve of his thumb. “I could have been anyone, done anything with my life. I had avenues wide open before me and chose to ignore them all in favor of being yours—being near you.”

“The Riddler is yours, too.” Ed tightens his hand around Oswald’s wrist, thumb stroking back and forth as his words continue to spill out of his mouth. “I know you don’t like to hear it, and that I brought you a lot of unintended pain, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know how you truly felt about me…if I did, I might have—there’s no use wasting thoughts on if’s and but’s,” Ed says dismissively, knowing it’ll be something he’ll obsess over later. “What’s done is done, and you gave me the strength to do it, for I always believed, every second I was away, that I had something to return to.”

Reaching for Oswald’s free hand, Ed guides it to his mouth so he can lay a kiss on each knuckle, eyes never straying from Oswald’s tear-stained face. “I love you, Oswald. I love you, and I’m home. I’m not planning on leaving again…please _believe_ me. Please _forgive_ me.”

Oswald can’t hold himself back any longer—seizing Ed, he tugs him upright, Ed’s knees still on the ground, one in front of each of Oswald’s shoes, and he dips down enough to capture Ed’s lips in a kiss, keeping him close with a hand in Ed’s hair. Both of them shake with emotion, and Oswald’s kisses are messy and fervid, overwhelming already, but reverent.

“Of course I forgive you,” he gasps between kisses, this time dropping his lips to the curve of Ed’s forehead and his hairline. “I love you, oh God, Ed, I _love you_ , I never could let you go, I needed you, I will always need you,” he pants, his stream of words turning nonsensical quickly as all his thoughts collide. Ed grabs his waist and holds fast, kissing Oswald back with fervor, each of them taking turns kissing across each other’s faces, too distracted by pent-up years of longing to be coordinated, or to even _care_.

Scrambling to clutch the back of Ed’s suit jacket, Oswald helps haul him to his feet, Ed rising quickly when he catches on to Oswald’s unspoken directions. Ed goes to pull them both into an embrace, but Oswald counters first and spins Ed around, walking him backwards into one of the bar chairs, pushing Ed to sit with his palms on his legs, digging his fingertips into Ed’s thighs while he slowly brushes their lips. He wants to _savor_ Ed, take his time exploring, learning every small technique that would thrill Ed the most, make him flush and cry out for entirely _better_ reasons than heartbreak and sorrow, but when Ed winds his legs around Oswald’s hips and yanks him flush against his chest, Oswald gives up on any pretense of slowness, and dives back into kissing Ed with an all-consuming focus.

Ed writhes, shudders, moans; his fingers clinging to Oswald’s back, down his arms, Ed in a constant wave of motion underneath him.

“You’re worth it,” Oswald murmurs, speaking between the moment they take to catch their breaths. “You were always worth it, will always be worth it,” he tries to explain, tries to make Ed understand, but his words are as disjointed as he blamed Ed’s for being. “I never gave a damn if I lost my empire—only you, only if I lost you, do you understand?”

Ed makes a wet, high noise and half-nods before pulling Oswald back towards him, kissing him again and again. Oswald moans Ed’s name directly into his mouth, and it’s then that he realizes neither of them have stopped crying, though gratefully this time out of _relief_ and love, not pain.

Smiling, with his eyes screwed shut at the next brush of their lips, Ed links his arms over Oswald’s shoulders, holding him close. He angles his head as his bottom lip is tugged and nibbled on, and groans at the taste the tang of alcohol on Oswald’s breath. He inhales every exhale, only to be distracted by an unexpected feeling of hesitation and apprehensiveness firing inside of him. Ed feels himself tremble, not knowing if it is from cowardice or something deeper. He doesn’t understand. This—being with Oswald, kissing him, holding him, touching him, is all Ed has ever wanted. It’s what he spent _years_ dreaming about, and yet there is fear and hesitation to be found where relief and desire should be taking forefront of… _everything._

There’s something about getting what he wants, which scares him the most…for when all the pieces fall into place, how can he be certain that he isn’t dreaming.

Drawing back, Ed shifts his attention away from Oswald’s mouth and nuzzles his neck with delicate kisses. So faint, they are whispers dancing across his skin. Oswald’s hands are in Ed’s hair, on his neck, clutching his arms, stroking his legs. They are everywhere, darting from place to place, curling and pressing, digging and pulling, slowly delving beneath the rumpled confines of Ed’s coat.

Tears continue to line Ed’s cheeks and his heart swells and flutters wildly. Falling in love feels like the precipice of the most consuming, damaging, magical thing; Ed should know, he has lived upon that line for years…but _reciprocated_ love…well, Ed is more than ready to tumble head first into the unknown, and revel in it.

“ _Oswald_ ,” Ed pants, holding him close, arms and legs still secured firmly around him. “I’ve spent years waiting for this— _for you_.” Oswald groans and steps in closer, fingers trailing up and down Ed’s back, prompting _several_ choked gasps. _This isn’t a mistake, right? I don’t want to make another one. I’ve done enough damage._ Even in his heady state, Ed knows these aren’t the right thoughts to utter, so instead he says, “Take me. I’m yours,” as he cups Oswald’s cheeks and reconnects their mouths, with a liquid warmth spreading through his body.

A heat so sharp it scorches both his body and mind with a white-hot, searing brilliance, Oswald groans and rolls himself flush against Ed, sucking on his tongue as he pulls Ed even closer to himself. Forget clothes, Oswald plans to leave them; ignore decorum and a realistic pace, Ed just asked Oswald to _fuck him_ , and Oswald _fully_ intends to, no hesitation or rational thought could slow them down now.

Except—“We have to go upstairs,” Oswald manages to say, with Ed’s head tipped back while Oswald works at marking his neck, Ed’s fingers gripping Oswald’s shoulder tightly, gasping as Oswald nips at his skin.

“Wh-wha— _hnnn_ ,” Ed cries, hiccupping when Oswald digs the tips of his fingers into the waistband of his slacks, tugging on Ed’s belt.

“We have to go upstairs,” Oswald repeats, his voice a low husk, almost foreign to his own ears. He strokes his hand down the front of Ed’s pants, baring his palm across Ed’s arousal. “Upstairs there’s— _supplies_ , if I’m going to—” Both of their breaths hitch when Oswald tips Ed’s hips back and grinds into his backside.

Ed shakes his head and wiggles backwards, shoving his hand into his coat pocket. Oswald extends a hand and Ed drops the item in his palm. It’s a gold flip-top lighter with a question mark engraved on it. Dropping his jaw, Oswald furrows his brow and stares at Ed.

“ _Wait_ …wrong pocket,” Ed says, voice too normal for what they’d just been discussing. He takes it away and does a quick switch with his other hand, smiling with his lips pulled into his mouth, as he presents Oswald with something else.

Oswald gapes and feels his face flush. “ _Why were you carrying this?_ ” he asks about the bottle of lube Ed’s given him, over-enunciating each word. Ed reddens too, and the color overtakes his face quickly.

“I’ve been waiting for this for years,” Ed explains, voice small, eyes wide.

“You’ve…had this all this time…”

“Well, not _this_ bottle.” Ed quirks an eyebrow while he pouts, pulling it into a smile at the last second. “In case tonight…went as I _hoped_ , I-I wanted to be _prepared_ and—”

 _Cracking_ into laughter, Oswald drops his head to Ed’s shoulder, laughing and laughing as he clutches Ed’s vest in his hand, still holding the bottle in the other. Ed’s face is throwing off so much heat, Oswald can feel it radiate into his scalp.

“You’re ridiculous. I love you.” He pants, trying to regain his composure. “I love every part of you. You always were so well-prepared, for _anything_ , I can’t believe you dared to—”

Ed grabs Oswald’s face. “I said, I’ve been waiting for _years_ , for you to make me _yours_ , always yours, _only yours…_ ”

“ _Mine_ ,” Oswald chants, grabbing fistfuls of clothing in their way so forcefully he fears he may almost tear them, almost scratching Ed in his frenzy. He wants to treasure Ed, unwrap him inch by inch, delicate and thrilling in each new touch, but the rush in his veins, the look in Ed’s eyes, spurs him forward into desperation, mindless passion, and as he bites into Ed’s mouth again, he loses the last grasp of through-processing ability he has left, only wanting Ed, _him and Ed_ , together, as one, at last.

Ed inches forward into Oswald’s touch, wanting to fully align their bodies, only to find himself shoved back against the bar. His half-lidded eyes snap open, hands scrambling for purchase on the counter behind him as Oswald smirks and charges forward, latching onto Ed’s neck, roving his deft fingers down Ed’s body.

Ed groans, head spinning, unable to stifle the sounds of his pleasure, not wanting to do so. If he had found the courage to confess his love years ago, this wouldn’t be so—

“ _Ungh_ , O-Oswald.” _I am so wrong_ , he says to himself, throwing his head back. Things with Oswald, any moment shared between them, is likely to be just as consuming and _passionate_ as this.

Rocking forward into Oswald’s palm, rutting as his body threatens to slip out from under him, Ed slides his fingers into the strands of Oswald’s hair and kisses him again, with less and less composure.

“Clothes,” he says, as he licks into Oswald’s mouth, who appears to have not heard him. Regrettably, Ed draws back, wanting to make his point clear. His hands come to rest on Oswald’s biceps, fingers thrumming and playing with the leather straps on his arms, distracted for half a second by old fantasies before he says, “If we are go- _going_ to have sex…Oswald, we need to take our clothes off.”

“No, Ed,” Oswald drawls, voice cracking and sliding into a groan when Ed licks his mouth again. “We do _not_ need to waste our time with that. As if there is _any reason_ —” he lectures while undoing Ed’s belt, despite the shake in his hands, “—I would waste _another moment_ —” he half-yanks Ed’s pants and underwear down, causing Ed to gasp, who throws the back of his hand over his mouth and keens around his own flesh, biting into his knuckles, “—in making you _mine_ ,” Oswald growls, ripping Ed’s hand away so he can capture Ed’s mouth in a hungry, devouringly-passionate kiss.

Ed almost slips off the bar chair completely, not surprising, as it was the only part of him still balanced on the seat, his lower half trapped around Oswald’s waist _and_ under his hands.

Oswald helps pull him to his feet, Ed’s grip gaining purchase by gripping the leather armbands around Oswald’s upper arms again.

“You’re paying for my dry-cleaning, then,” Ed deadpans, blinking before his face devolves into a snickering giggle.

Oswald rolls his eyes in response, but flushes anyway. This is the old, playful banter he was used to having with Ed before he vanished. “There’s no price I won’t pay to have you, Ed.” _No price I wouldn’t willingly pay_ —he wonders if Ed knows he immensity of that. There will be time for discussion later, for now—

“Why are you playing with _those?_ ” Oswald asks, fumbling with undoing his own belt in the interim. Ed’s still gripping his armbands, looking focused on his own thoughts.

Pursing his lips, Ed starts to speak, then stops, before asking, “Can you…with _these?_ ”

“Can I _what?_ ” Oswald finishes with his zipper, while studying Ed’s face.

Huffing, Ed grabs the side of his pants and catches them from falling off, then connects his wrist bones together and presents them to Oswald. “Please, _please_ , they’ve been on my mind for years, _too_ ,” he whines, frustrated, his eyes closed and lips parted.

“You want me to—” Oswald doesn’t even finish voicing the thought he’s caught on to before rapidly undoing them, the second one giving him more of a struggle with his non-dominant hand, before shifting to fixing them around each of Ed’s wrists, sliding the leather of one under the other before securing them tight. “I’ll buy you a real pair, I didn’t— _know_ , I’ll have them _made_ , I—”

“They have to be _yours_ ,” Ed moans, breathy and high, testing the resistance. “I—” he’s about to hyperventilate, and Oswald kisses him, wet and slow.

“I’m going to take _such_ good care of you,” he promises, grazing Ed’s lower lip between his teeth. “I’m going to give you everything, _everything_ ,” he murmurs, stroking down Ed’s sides.

“Then _take it_ ,” Ed’s eyes flash dark and his voice tips low, and that’s all the provocation Oswald needs to finally turn him around and bend him over the bar top, reaching for the lube he pocketed before.

A prickling _tingle_ runs starts in the back of Ed’s neck and runs down spine as the telltale crack of the plastic cap reaches his ears and his pants and underwear are ripped down his legs, left to puddle around his ankles. Slightly embarrassed at being _so exposed_ , but no less enthused about the position, Ed wrings his wrists, dropping his head to the counter as the leather tightens _deliciously_ around him. It’s enough to send his mind spinning…and that’s _before_ the first brush of Oswald’s finger.

Ed’s always known Oswald has magical hands…and he should, he’s spent years studying them, mapping every ridge and crevice. However, what he didn’t realize, what his brain could never perceive, was what those hands, _those fingers_ , would feel like as they entered his body. And _oh_ , with the way his legs shake when Oswald finally presses inside, Ed is thankful for the counter propping him up, for he surely would have collapsed.

“Don’t…” Ed swallows thickly, words swirling in his mind, delayed in reaching the tip of his tongue. “Don’t prolong this, Oswald. We’ve wasted e-enough time _._ ”

“I won’t, Ed. I won’t,” he says as he splays a hand on Ed’s lower back, nails scratching lightly. He is quick to give Ed what he wants— _needs,_ receiving breathless moans in response _._ He drives his finger forward and Ed bucks back into it, arousal coiling tightly in his stomach. With his wrists restrained, hands clutching the far side of the bar, Ed can’t even work to relieve the pressure Oswald is building inside of him—something he is enjoying far too much.

As Oswald swiftly works in a second finger, Ed hooks his arms over his head, binds biting _perfectly_ into his skin. He tugs on the stands of his hair and pants and drools onto the countertop, decorum eradicated at every press and pull. All Ed is able to do is feel and _feel_ and whimper and _beg_.

“Oswald,” he rasps through labored breath. “Oswald,” he repeats, struggling to form another word. “ _Oswald_ ,” he tries again, hooking his foot around Oswald’s ankle. “ _Please_ ,” he croaks, hips rocking.

Hiking Ed’s layers up and out of the way, Oswald arches, bending to kiss Ed’s back, his skin feverishly warm under Oswald’s lips. He grazes his teeth, just a tease, along Ed’s skin as he kisses, Ed rewarding him with little whimpers and whines while he slides a third finger in and pumps. He wishes he could drive his teeth into the back of Ed’s neck, but at this angle it’s impossible, so he concentrates on teasing Ed while he gets them ready, slicking himself up and entering Ed slowly, making a sound he can’t believe came from his own mouth as he pushes deeper.

Hands holding Ed’s hips so tightly Oswald mostly feels bone, he lays his chest across Ed’s back and rocks into him again, his cheek rubbing against Ed’s coat as he pants, moaning Ed’s name wet and high as he thrusts. It’s too much, it’s already too much, the whole _day_ has been, his leg has been killing him the entire time he and Ed first started kissing, and up and through now he’s been ignoring it, too enraptured in the joy of being pressed close to Ed, finally, _passionately_ consummating years of hidden love and adoration in such a desperate, debauched way.

Reaching around to stroke Ed, knowing neither of them will last much longer, not with how they’re crying out for each other and moving together, Oswald holds Ed up by the waist with his free arm and pulls their bodies closer together while he snaps harder inside Ed.

“Thank you, Ed, _thank you_ ,” Oswald finds himself chanting, Ed making a high noise in response. He explains all the ways he’s thankful: for Ed coming back, for Ed being so beautiful, for _this_ , for loving him. Ed dissolves into a limp mess, crying and thrusting back into Oswald until he’s spent, and Oswald’s almost sure he came on his own belly, all over his clothes, at the angle they’re at.

Wrapping his other arm around Ed’s chest, he clings to him while he finishes fucking him, gasping and shouting as he orgasms, relishing the warmth of Ed’s body, his boneless pliancy, his trust in being held like this, his _lust_ for having been as eager to be wrecked by Oswald as Oswald is with him.

“I love you,” Oswald pants again, laying Ed back down on the bar and collapsing on top of him, grateful that somehow Ed is now what’s keeping Oswald upright, by sheer presence alone. He traces a hands down Ed’s side and repeats himself, pricks of tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he rides out the racing of his heart, the struggle to catch his breath. Oswald can’t even shift out of Ed, for when he half-heartedly tries, Ed whines and tells him not to move.

“I’m going to take you upstairs,” Oswald informs Ed, turning Ed’s face to the side with a fistful of hair, so he can finally kiss Ed again, slow. “In—in a _moment_ ,” he clarifies, still too lost in sensation to make much headway or progress on anything. “Undo your wrists, clean you up,” he mumbles, hugging Ed again. “Want to make love to you again,” he wonders, but it’s difficult to make plans with Ed’s quiet sobs reverberating in Oswald’s chest, and he lets them just breathe together instead.

Ed cries silently onto the countertop. Tears of unmitigated relief, _love,_ and ecstasy spill down his overheated cheeks and his body ticks with aftershocks in the wake of his physical and emotional release. He had hoped their night would go this way. He’d planned on it, prepared for it, dreamed about it for _years_ …but to live it, to receive Oswald’s love, his kisses and touches overwhelmed Ed so completely that it takes him more than a few minutes to reorient himself. Relaxing, eyes closed, Ed relishes in the feeling of Oswald so tenderly wrapped around him, carding fingers through his hair, effectively calming him down.

“I love you, too,” Ed mumbles, shifting his arms over his head to clasp Oswald’s hand, stroking his fingers back and forth, mapping the grooves between each digit and the sharp edge of Oswald’s nails. Ed had spent many years observing Oswald, his mannerism, his likes and dislikes; even when Ed was a regular civilian he kept track of Oswald’s movements in the newspaper, following his story closely. It was what paved the way to _this_ very moment,and Ed couldn’t wait to study the last few remaining pieces that make up the man he loves.

After a few peaceful moments, neither of them rushing through their shared intimacy, Ed clears his throat and nods. “Upstairs sounds good. I think we should…” He trails off but Oswald catches onto what he was trying to say and slowly withdraws from his body.

Pressing up off the counter, Ed straightens and immediately spins around to peck a kiss to Oswald’s lips, somehow managing _not_ to trip over himself. As he pulls back he feels thankful that the ends of his shirt provides him with a _small sense_ of modestly, but the fabric clings to him and Ed’s face pinches in disgust, lip curling despite the smile twinging the corner of his mouth.

“I’m all sticky. I—” He plucks the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and stares at it as it dangles off the tips of his fingers, piecing together the best way to go about cleaning himself.

“I’ll have them cleaned, leave it. Don’t be fussy. I’m going to bathe you, you’ll be fine,” Oswald instructs Ed, yanking the handkerchief away and reaching for the impromptu bindings still buckled on Ed. How he managed to reach into his pocket and extract _anything_ with his wrists lashed together was…already too unbelievable, yet he just witnessed it, and Oswald smiles to himself about it while he unfastens the bands.

“Thank you for these. I wasn’t sure how you would take such a request,” Ed flexes and rolls his wrists once they’re loose again, no doubt testing out his regained range of motion. He drops the armbands to the floor without a second thought—they’re inadequate for Ed’s needs, and the memory of them will remain… _unsuitable_ for Oswald’s.

“Honestly, it was unexpected, but so alluring…not to mention _appealing_ , that I couldn’t help myself,” Oswald rocks his head back and forth a bit while he grins. “Finding out we have the same…darker… _interests_ ,” Oswald tells Ed, between soft kisses he peppers along the red marks embedded into Ed’s wrists, “and that we’re _compatible_ in them is _another_ delicate gift you have given me, Ed, and if there’s more desires of yours akin to this, you’ll find we’re…well-suited to fulfilling those for each other.” 

“Okie-dokie,” Ed replies, his voice distant, small, and _completely_ exposing that his mind has returned to the same raw, erotic place Oswald’s has.

“Come now,” Oswald orders, nibbling at the edge of Ed’s protruding wrist bone, before resting Ed’s arms on his shoulders, tossing his head behind his shoulder to show he wants them to head upstairs.

“No,” Ed complains, pulling Oswald back. “Pants,” he offers, and Oswald flushes when he realizes what Ed means.

“That might be a good idea,” he laughs, remembering their pants are pooled around their ankles. He’d been so caught up in Ed, he’d _forgotten_. “Have I reminded you yet how much I adore your intellect? You’re a genius with an attention for detail I clearly cannot function without.” He’s teasing a little, but he still means what he says. 

Reaching down to retrieve his lower layers, Oswald’s leg finally quits on him, and before he’s even processed the split-second of fear that he may topple over, Ed’s already caught his arm, steadying Oswald with a hand under his other.

“Let’s just take these off,” Ed offers, crouching down to remove Oswald’s shoes, his fingers deftly undoing his laces and sliding them off Oswald with efficiency and gentleness. This isn’t the first time Ed’s assisted Oswald with small tasks he sometimes cannot complete alone, as he once did. Oswald refused anyone’s help, whether they were being kind _or_ pitying (he wouldn’t even allow Fish to _speak_ of it, after they’d made peace with each other); however, Ed’s devotion to noting and caring for Oswald’s needs, before Oswald himself was even aware of them, had open a channel of vulnerability (and appreciation) between them both years ago. A moment like this wasn’t uncommon, though _removing_ Oswald’s clothing from below the waist was…and in context of _why_ …Oswald shudders and strokes Ed’s hair again, blinking back tears of emotion again, as well. If Ed’s declarations are correct, his years of affectionate assistance now take on drastically new understandings in Oswald’s mind. If only he’d _known_ Ed loved him for so long, so silently…

After Ed sits down and finishes tugging his own shoes and pants off, Oswald reaches for one of his hands and lifts it to his lips, placing a kiss across his knuckles. “I’m going to run us a bath. Come with me?”

“ _Anywhere,_ ” Ed replies breathlessly, having sprung back to his feet. “Always. Please.”

It takes them an absurd amount of time to make it up the stairs, Oswald’s leg cramps the least of what slows them down; between soft giggles and a brief interlude of drifting hands under shirts, picking at buttons, while locked into kissing each other against the wall, they both only need shrug out of the last of their garments when they enter the master bathroom. Both of the tremble when they press flush against each other for the first time nude, and it takes all of Oswald’s self-control to pull away and start drawing the bath, knowing Ed’s fastidiousness about his state of cleanliness will be best to address first, before Oswald even considers making good on his earlier promise for the rest of their evening.

“Darling,” Oswald calls out behind him, over the running water. “Come here, in, in,” he lovingly demands, slapping his palm against the side of the tub. He’s already put some drops of his favorite fragrance in, a blend he can’t even identify each note of. Ed’s standing bashfully off to the side; Oswald relates to the newness and shyness of being naked together, but since they’ve already been _together_ , he doubts now is the time Ed would judge his figure. There’s not a thing about Ed he wouldn’t already proclaim is _perfection_.

Ed wanders over, and after he manages to clamber all four of his long limbs into the tub, he folds his glasses and drops them nearby, then grabs something off the same shelf recessed into the wall and peers at it, cradled in his cupped hand. “You _kept_ this? I remember giving this to you.”

“Is that my pillbox?” Oswald carefully enters the tub next, settling on top of Ed’s legs, the water closer to chest-level now with them both in place. “Let me see.” He takes it from Ed and pops it open, the ornate, jeweled lid speckled with emeralds and amethysts sliding back to expose the narcotics he keeps inside. Dry-swallowing one of the painkillers is a normal act for Oswald; he has to take these a few times a day. They have little to no effect, but any minimal amount of pain relief is better than none.

Placing it back in its designated location, Oswald reaches for a soft washcloth and holds it under the faucet, testing the water temperature against his wrist before adjusting, then turning off the knob. “Of course I kept it, along with all the gifts you gave me over the years. If you are surprised to see this here, well…my bedroom may shock you.”

Once or twice a year (four, including his birthday and Christmas)—following no pattern Oswald could ever make sense of—Ed would bring him a gift, often with a notecard containing a riddle Oswald many times struggled to solve. He assumed Ed stole the items, to be honest—they were all luxurious and well-crafted, and each brought smiles to Oswald’s face every time he beheld them. 

After five years with Ed in his employment, the collection had grown to take over the top of a dresser in his room (and that was excluding the pieces that resided elsewhere, like the pillbox, _and_ the drawer dedicated to things of Ed’s Oswald had _kept_ , handkerchiefs he’d lent Oswald that Oswald stopped returning once his lovesickness overtook his propriety, and he wanted to cling to every part of Ed he could keep). Other bobbles—pens, a tie clip that had fallen off, similar effects were all treasures to Oswald he could never part with. Even when his heartbreak had been at its worse the last few months, he often chose to sleep elsewhere in the building, just to avoid looking at the reminders and remainders of Ed, but getting _rid_ of them was never even a consideration.

“You truly never had any idea how much you mean to me, did you,” Oswald murmurs, stroking his fingers through the back of Ed’s hair, reveling in the softness before it gets wet. He dabs at Ed’s face with the washcloth, softly removing the traces of tears down his cheeks, erasing the tracks of hurt and sorrow. “I’m sorry I made you cry,” Oswald says, voice more squeak than words. He sniffles and wipes at his own eyes with the back of his hand before continuing. “I didn’t believe you were sincere. I’m a fool, I’m sorry. Hurting you is…the worst idea I can conceive of. Far, far worse than your fears about what harm you wrongly believe you could cause _me_.”

Sliding his fingers around Oswald’s wrist, Ed peppers kisses across his knuckles and down each finger, with shushing sounds parting his lips. “Stop that,” he says, repeating it often as Oswald stares across at him, blinking only to dispel the water collecting in his eyes. “You’re _not_ a fool, and you have _nothing_ to be sorry for. _Nothing._ ”

As much as Ed wishes they could forget the difficulty of the past two years and sweep their issues under the rug so they are free to bask in the happiness of their reconnection, he knows they cannot. It is something that will likely be voiced again and again before it is finally resolved.

Cupping Oswald’s cheek, heat pours into Ed’s palm as he flicks away a falling tear. “I’ve caused you so many of these,” he laments, heart aching. “When I left…all those calls I ignored, all those _voicemails_ I received…” Ed pauses to sniff wetly and swallow thickly before continuing. “I heard your pain, listened to you as you cursed and begged me to return. I’m the one who should be sorry. I _am_ sorry, so _very_ sorry.”

Ed had saved as many voicemails as his phone would store. They were the only connection to Oswald he had whilst he was away growing stronger, _for_ _him_. Each time he received a new message, he sobbed into his pillows and he hit the replay button several times. He wasn’t strong in those moments.

Whenever he felt disconsolate, he collapsed into his bed for days, submerging himself in the sound of Oswald’s cries, until he felt detached and numb. He told himself that as time turned it would get easier, but it never did. The dark clouds lingered; his sorrow never fully abated. For two years he was alone, not living, barely existing, spending one creating his new persona, and the other portraying him with a desolate emptiness buried beneath an overly exuberant disposition.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Ed tugs Oswald forward till their mouths meet and move slow and tenderly. “I love you, Oswald,” he croaks, before carding his fingers through Oswald’s hair, shifting them down to the back of his neck, holding him close. “Thank you for…for hiring me,” he says between another press of his lips, “for allowing me spend many wonderful years beside you, for forgiving my disappearance and accepting my return. Thank you for loving me.”

It’s hard to speak, let alone aim for anything profound, so Oswald doesn’t try. He lets the tears in his eyes fall, lets his walls crumble here, in Ed’s arms, vulnerable by choice, moved to thawing the ache inside by circumstance. Kissing Ed again, and _again_ , tipping Ed’s head back with each kiss more demanding than the last, more agonizing, more desperate to communicate the burning conflagration of emotions inside his chest, ignited by Ed’s ardently loving words.

Grateful for the low-lighting of the candles he’d lit before they got in the tub, and the comforting warmth of the water, lush scent cradling his senses as he allows the world to dissolve around him and shift his mind to only _Ed_ , thinking only of Ed, and all Ed means to him. Talking Ed through the gentle bathing he gives him, explaining where his hands will go as he moves them in soft murmurs, sentences he doesn’t even consciously form passing his lips as he whispers into Ed’s ear, cleaning the places he’s sullied in the throes of passion earlier. When he tells Ed the shift his hips so he can carefully wipe between his legs, Ed shoves his face into Oswald’s shoulder, the curve between his forehead and nose pressed into the meat just above Oswald’s clavicle. He strokes Ed’s back, starts washing his hair with cupfuls of water he scoops and pours into Ed’s locks with his hand, massaging his scalp while he presses his lips against Ed’s temple.

Ed throws his arms around Oswald and trembles, holding on so tightly it _hurts_. Oswald’s certain it’s the only time in his life he’s ever felt safe—that _either_ of them has. He tells Ed _harder_ , tells him to never let go. Rubbing certain, yet careful circles across Ed’s skin, alternating between open palm and arched fingertips, Oswald wishes he could sing well, but instead all he has to offer for sound is soothing shushes and hushed declarations, as he mouths down Ed’s cheek, his neck, his chest, as his own tears still fall here and there, as he pours his love into every touch he can’t believe he’s blessed enough to be able to make.

As Oswald’s hands stroke up his chest, Ed leans back into the curve of the bathtub, muscles tense despite the warmth of the water. Open-mouthed, he gazes at the ceiling and tries to relax, focusing on the feeling of fingertips and lips as they glide across his skin. Never before has Ed shared a bath with another, nor been so _exposed._ He spends his days hiding behind masks, literally and figuratively, and Oswald is stripping him of them. No more layers, no more hiding, only _them_.

Slowly, but surely, Oswald’s touches becomes less and less about sanitation and more about conciliation of their two year separation, making every moment count for the ones forever lost to them. It’s the tangible feeling of Oswald’s love pouring into Ed which rips the ground out from beneath him. _I love you, too,_ is what Ed wishes he could say, but his tongue lies flat in his mouth and his mind is carried away alongside the combining scents permeating the heated air, until everything fades and dulls to a foggy illusion, senses _completely_ engaged.

Ed shivers and gasps. He may have moaned too, but he’s not certain. _What are you doing to me?_ Each swipe of Oswald’s rippling fingertips erases the world outside, eradicates Ed’s past, solidifying him in the present…and it’s _too much._ Ed doesn’t know what to do with his hands. His tears fall silently and his breath hitches, shallow rapid bursts licking the outskirts of hyperventilation as he’s bathing in a heated pool of emotion and sensation.

“O- _Oswald_ ,” Ed cries as his lips are brushed with a whisper.

Oswald’s continues to soothe him gently, kissing away the tracks that line his cheeks. His hands move back and forth, pressing and rubbing, gliding and delving as they dig and dig and _dig_ until they reach Ed’s soul. Unable to keep his eyes open due to his headiness, Ed lolls his head to the side and shudders. All that love, adoration and reverence is slowly drowning him and Ed—

“ _Stop_ ,” he whimpers, voice barely audible over the squeak in his throat. He wraps his unsteady fingers around Oswald’s wrists and attempts to catch his breath, to regain his mind. His thoughts are swimming down a rapid river, constructing false memories around his lonely, desolate nights, dreams of what _could_ have been and what _will be._ It’s overwhelming.

“Ed,” Oswald says, faintly. “Are you—”

Ed shakes his head back and forth, and his chest divots with suppressed sobs. “No…yes, no. I don’t know,” he rambles nonsensically. “I—you. It’s too much, _too much._ I feel you everywhere, and I—I… _Oswald._ ”

“I love you,” Oswald says it again, and it’s _useless_ : he will never be able to say it enough; he will never be able to make it mean what it _needs_ to to convey to Ed how he feels. “I thought I was going to die inside when they took you away from me, that horrible day.” He means the kidnapping, of course—both of them know what he means, if Ed’s sob is anything to go by. “And I was _dead_ without you here, when you left. I would do anything, there’s nothing that would stop me, the _only_ thing that matters is you. It’s only you.”

He reaches out to touch Ed again, and lets his hand fall slowly, the water submerging the stabbing ache to touch Ed again but not be able to. It hurts that Ed won’t allow any more touches, but Oswald wants him to know how much he’s treasured, even if it must be like this. The desperation to make himself clear quakes through him, makes him cry anew.

“I killed for you, Ed. I would destroy the world for you, just for you. Everything became for _you_ —and it was terrifying, to value something over my kingdom, over _myself_ , over the things I thought would complete me all my life, make the pain of life bearable, give life value, that none of the power or prestige had _purpose_ without _this man_ before me.” Oswald doesn’t realizing he’s speaking his thoughts out loud until Ed’s breath catches and his hands fly out to grasp Oswald’s chest, eyes still closed, his breathing more labored now, instead of rapid and shallow.

“I feel you everywhere, too, all this time,” Oswald sobs, grateful for the places where his body still touches Ed’s, where his thighs bracket Ed’s hips, where his rear is held by Ed’s knees. “Sometimes I slept downstairs hoping that might be the night you came back. It was impossible to live as I once had, without you.”

“Thank you for coming back,” Oswald chokes out through tears, mirroring Ed’s words from before on purpose; they’re etched into his heart and mind—he’ll never forget them. “Thank you for letting me love you again.”

“ _Always_ ,” Ed croaks after an unflattering sniffle. They won’t be separated again. Ed won’t allow it, and he’s more than certain Oswald won’t either. Not after tonight, not after the two years they spent apart, not after the _seven_ they could have spent loving each other. Sliding his palms up Oswald’s chest, over the dry patches of skin, Ed rakes his nails through the short tufts of hair on the nape of Oswald’s neck and sighs at the faintest press of lips to his forearm.

“You can touch me again, now.” Ed doesn’t have the words to convey how grateful he is to Oswald for allowing him the chance to recollect himself. He felt foolish for even having to take a breather from something so immersive, to deny himself that _beautiful_ , tumbling torrent, but it was necessary. _Apprehensive over the weight of love…_ Ed wants to scoff at himself; instead, he opts for coaxing Oswald forward till their noses brush and lips meet.

Their kiss is soft, gentle, and chaste…and maybe there are no fireworks or sparks (like earlier that evening), but it’s _better_ than that—it’s a wave of warmth that fills him up, spilling out from his soul. The glide of Oswald’s lips on his own sends a rush of emotion to every corner of Ed’s body: to the cracks in between his fingers and toes, to the crooks of his elbows and behind his knees, to the very tips of his ears. Every inch of him is saturated in it.

“Take me to bed,” Ed says as he mouths across Oswald’s cheeks, tasting the slight saltiness of his tears. “Take me to bed, and _hold me_ , please.”

“Of _course_ ,” Oswald breathes, already rushing to cling to Ed in a fervent hug. “There’s nothing I want more.”

Pulling back, only so he can finish bathing himself, he shoves his hair in the tub enough to scrub the hairspray out, avoiding getting his eyes wet—he grabs a makeup remover cloth from the packet on the counter nearby to clean his mascara and eyeliner off with. Reaching underneath, he pulls the plug out of the drain, and slowly works at hauling himself out of the tub, grateful that his upper body strength remains, despite his exhaustion from how intense the evening’s been. Wrapping himself in a robe and going over the top of his head with a towel, he comes back and does the same for Ed’s hair, helping Ed up and out and tucking him into the robe tightly. Lifting Ed’s hand, Oswald presses a kiss to his knuckles and leads him to his room; if his smile is half as warm as it feels, stretched across his face, it explains the light radiating from the smile Ed returns to him.

After they’ve made it through the doorway, as Oswald leads Ed towards his large canopy bed, Ed stops in his tracks and won’t budge.

“You—Oswald, these—”

He’s talking about the items on top of Oswald’s dresser; practically a venerable shrine to every tangible piece of _love_ Ed had ever shown Oswald—well, that’s what Oswald had always _hoped_ it was, and now he knew he most certainly was not _wrong_.

“I loved every single one,” Oswald comments, tone soft and still a bit sad. “They were never as good as the real thing—as having you near, but for all the years my love for you burned so quietly in the background of all that we did, all we _shared_ , all because I was too afraid to tell you—well, these were here to console me that maybe my feelings weren’t one-sided.” He scoops an arm around Ed’s waist and pulls him close, fingers tracing down Ed’s wrist with his other hand. “Oh, forget the _years_ we could spend just talking about _what-ifs_ ; you asked me to take you to my bed and _hold you_ , and dammit, Ed, that’s all I want. Come here, come _with me_.”

Ed takes one last glance at the items over his shoulder, eyeing each piece, smiling forlornly at the warm memories attached to them, recalling, in a tangled stream of events, the moments he presented the gifts. His recollections flash before his eyes, like a movie playing more than one reel simultaneously, before he blinks and returns his undivided attention to Oswald. Bowing forward, Ed presses his lips to Oswald’s cheek, lingering as he nuzzles his nose into his soft skin.

“To the first night of forever.” His voice is but a quiet whisper, pressed into Oswald’s ear, and within seconds his mouth is captured in a soulful kiss and Ed is lead over to the bed. The backs of his knees brush the mattress and Ed plops down onto it as he slips his robe off his shoulders, peering up at Oswald from beneath his lashes. “No barriers?” he asks, coyly, wanting only to feel every inch of Oswald wrapped around him, so they may lie as close as humanly possible.

“Mmmm,” Oswald’s hum comes from low in his chest, as he strokes Ed’s cheek with his thumb, caressing his jaw in the palm of his hand. “You’re a _vision_ like this, do you know? I could never hope to say no to anything you ask of me when you’re like this,” he murmurs, before kissing Ed deeply again, tracing over his lips slowly before sinking deeper into the kiss. He reaches to undo his robe with his other hand and _presses_ against Ed, and oh, Ed _is_ right, the feel of them finally touching skin-to-skin is going to be novel for some time, he can tell already.

Before he’s completely lost in the headiness, he pulls back, smiling. “Scratch that, I’ll never be able to deny you _anything_ again, nor would I want to.” He strokes down Ed’s neck and chest once, before shoving the last of Ed’s robe away, letting it pool below him. 

Stepping to the side, intending to close the blinds on his bed before crawling in with Ed, Oswald catches Ed’s eyes tracking his every move. “Oh, go on, get under the covers, I’ll be right there,” he jokingly chides, and Ed grins as he clambers under the sheets, as told.

Once they’re enclosed in the pitch dark of the concealed bed, Oswald slides in beside Ed and pulls him close to his chest again. Ed tucks his head under Oswald’s chin, and clings tightly to him, his warm breath licking down Oswald’s bare skin. He tips his face down just enough to press a kiss to the crown of Ed’s head, petting his back and whispering loving little praises, until he feels too tired and content, too warm and complete and _loved_ , to even speak.

In the end, waiting two years for _this_ , for _forever_ , was more than fair enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrae_Immortalis drew some lovely fanart of this AU in between our writing [here](http://riddlerbird.tumblr.com/post/166560288540/i-finally-got-around-to-making-new-art-bless)! 
> 
> Thank you for reading and let us know if these boys made you cry as much as they did for us!! And thank you for reading!


End file.
